Essay: A Good Snob Nowadays Is Hard to Find

It was not the Bach on the harpsichord that offended, or his way with
celestial navigation, or the servants, or the phone calls from Ronald
Reagan. No: his worst affront seemed to be the custom
chopped-and-stretched chauffeur-driven Cadillac with the partition and
the special back-seat temperature control. It was not even the fact
that William F. Buckley Jr. rides around in such a car, like a Mafia
don in his land yacht, that gave some reviewers eczema. It was the way
that he wrote about it, with such a blithe air of entitlement. No...